Symbiosis
by Mel88
Summary: Two years ago, the United Kingdom was overrun by parasitic insects, which turned most of the population into mindless Hosts. Those who survived eke out an existence wherever and however they can. Hermione Granger is one such Survivor, and she will do anything to protect the group she leads, including the unthinkable.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This was written for the 2012 HP Zombiefest on LiveJournal and inspired by this prompt from UnseenLibrarian: Werewolves are immune to zombie infection, it turns out, but they are indifferent to the world's plight. Hermione must find a way to convince Greyback and his pack to fight. Some warnings include main character death, gore, violence, strong profanity, and implicit sexual situations. A big 'thanks' to my betas, Joanna and ADP. Any remaining errors are entirely my own.**  
**

**Chapter One**

It was never meant to be like this.

Hermione Granger stood in the middle of a room full of carnage. It stank of rot, blood, and excrement, and a fair helping of each was spattered across the peeling walls, the exposed metal pipes, herself, and the three other Survivors who had accompanied her on the hunt. She held her wand limply at her side as her heartbeat finally started to slow.

She wished it could have been different.

"Shite!" Joshua cried, almost simultaneously with the report of his weapon. All eyes turned to him. Two pairs were glaring. Hermione simply raised her eyebrows.

"Was still alive," Joshua said a little sheepishly. He hid his eyes behind his long fringe and holstered his gun. "Grabbed my leg."

"Good instinct," said Cole stoutly. "Don't want to bring one home with us."

"Did any escape?" Hermione asked. Her voice was sharp, demanding attention and a prompt answer.

"No," responded Cole at once. "We got them all."

Her eyes swept over the carnage and settled on Patrice. "The eggs?"

"As many as I could find crushed, smashed, and destroyed," she answered, wiping her hands on her trousers. They came away no cleaner. "All that's left is to burn them."

That task fell to Hermione. "Do a final sweep," she said. "Shout to me when you rendezvous in the front."

Three "Ayes" were like music to her ears, and Hermione watched them mount the stairs to the first floor. She waited until they were gone to kneel beside one of the corpses.

It had been a little boy, no older than thirteen, with sandy hair. Blue eyes, too, she'd bet, though there would never be a way to tell. His eyes were missing, as were the lids. Hosts had no need to see. They had no need to do much of anything other than nest, lay eggs, and defend themselves. That was why they tended to group up like this, in whatever warm, dark places they could find.

Hermione glanced around the room and took a quick count. There had been fifteen Hosts down here and as many nests. No Burrowers, though, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because fifteen Hosts were hard enough to kill without the threat of Burrower infection. A curse because it meant the Burrowers had overwintered somewhere else, possibly somewhere closer to their refuge.

Hermione could trace Burrower history back to day one. They were the product of the research branch of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, a result of magical experimentation on Muggle insects, though why someone would ever _want_ to create such a creature was well beyond her understanding. The first time she heard of them, she had been working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had shared the news with Harry and Ron over lunch. Predictably, neither of them had read the press release, and neither had listened all that intently when Hermione summarized it. The news of a new bug was not at all interesting to them, especially when there was a growing Dark wizard threat in Italy.

Then the rumors began, and even Italy could no longer distract them.

The real mess started when a man named Niles Clawson went missing. His colleagues assumed it was an unannounced vacation. He'd always been a rather odd bird, after all, and research scientists were encouraged to heed their whims; it was said to counter the eventual insanity that crept on from working in a windowless laboratory for forty or more hours per week. But when the lab began to reek a few days later, the research department contacted the fieldwork department, and an expedition was hastily put together. It took only two hours to find him, stuffed into the corner behind the steam sterilizer. He was still breathing, but eyeless and jawless. His face was as bruised as if he had been run over by a bus. Luna had shown her pictures of both so that she could make the comparison herself.

They had rushed Niles to St Mungo's, where he remained in stable condition until he ransacked the room for blankets, tore the feathers from his pillow, and pulled the shower curtain down from his en suite bathroom. Healers found him in the corner hunched over a makeshift nest spewing perfectly oval, perfectly white eggs about the size of figs from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

By the time he stopped, over one hundred eggs had been deposited.

Not all of them had been found.

As a novel species with an abundance of prey and no natural predators, the Burrowers spread rapidly and uncontrollably. The population of England – both magical and Muggle – was decimated within six months. As they spread to Scotland and Wales, the economy collapsed. Trade ceased entirely as their allies, with justified paranoia, placed an embargo on all goods incoming from the United Kingdom. Aid was promised but never sent, and what few humanitarian organizations made the trip were soon overwhelmed and stranded themselves.

After two years, England's population had changed dramatically. People were no longer defined as Magical and Muggle, but rather as Survivors and Hosts.

_Host_ was the clinical term for what happened to a human post-Burrower infection. It was the term Hermione most enjoyed using because it was the least sensational. Others, the majority of them Muggles, preferred to use the word _zombie_. It had annoyed her at first, but she'd come to accept it. Both were accurate: Humans-turned-Hosts were undeniably dead, only capable of walking, fighting, and reproducing because of the Burrower's own magic.

A shout from above woke her from her reverie.

"All clear, Hermione!" came Cole's voice from the top of the stairs.

She looked once more at the small boy with sandy hair and empty eye sockets and hardened her heart. With a silent spell, she set fire to his body, then moved to the far corner and lit the nest she had found there. Then it was the corpses and nests closest to the stairs.

The basement began fill with smoke, and Hermione made her way toward the stairs. She walked halfway up, then turned around to listen. Above the crackle of the fire were several loud pops made by exploding eggs. Then there was a loud, wailing screech, like metal scraping across porcelain.

A dying Burrower. A lucky female that had managed to escape her Host, which had been decapitated improperly or not at all.

She smiled a grim smile: that was precisely why she burned them.

She met the rest of her group on the front lawn. They held their coats around them tightly; their breath created wispy clouds in the air.

"Getting dark," Joshua said, glancing at the sky. "Looks like it might snow, too."

Hermione squinted upwards. Thick, light grey clouds covered the previously blue sky. "Back to St Giles, then," she said. "The Burrowers won't be out if it snows, and I think we've killed enough Hosts for today."

"Twenty-seven of them!" said Patrice proudly, falling into step behind Hermione and next to Joshua. Cole, as usual, brought up the rear.

"Twenty-eight, by my count," corrected Joshua. "There was one stuffed in beneath the kitchen sink of that second place."

"Oh, I didn't see that one," Patrice said with disappointment. "You should have showed me!"

The two chatted for the entire ten-minute walk, which was ideal: their banter was a welcome distraction. For Hermione, hunting Hosts was far more trying a task than hunting Burrowers. Burrowers were just insects, after all: dark brown and about as big as a man's fist, with six scrabbling legs that were barbed at the ends, and – depending on sex – either a needle-sharp proboscis or a pair of sizeable pincers which could dislocate a jaw as easily as break through skull. Not remotely human. But Hosts… Shreds of humanity still stuck to them. She could almost imagine what their lives used to be.

They were met at the edge of St Giles-in-the-Fields by Sera and Marc, the afternoon patrols.

"Success?" asked Marc.

"Twenty-eight," said Patrice, with a swift sideways glance at Joshua. "Tell them where you found that one."

Hermione let them talk and accompanied Cole into the church. He paused in the foyer, awaiting her instruction.

Cole was a Muggle, nearly sixty years old, and one of the sharpest hunters they had. Though he was mum about his past, the determination and precision with which he fought, his eye for strategy, and his strict, regimented lifestyle made her suspect that he had military training. "You did well today," she said. "Go eat, then rest up. I'll take your watch for tonight."

He nodded once. "Thank you, ma'am." Hermione smiled as he walked away. Another reason she liked the old man? He didn't challenge her or ask unnecessary questions.

After changing out of her soiled clothes and grabbing some dinner, she relieved Kim of watch duty and stationed herself at the front door. She greeted the incoming patrols and listened closely to their reports. They said nothing of interest, which was the news she best liked to hear. People who passed nodded to her, but few of them stayed to talk. Darkness was approaching, and everyone had responsibilities to fulfill. Some would sleep in preparation for dawn patrols, an early hunting party, or the supply run they'd scheduled for tomorrow. Others would be putting on layers for watch duty in the exposed steeple, braving the frigid cold for a better long-range view of the surrounding area. Others still would patrol the church's halls, making sure that everyone was where they should be and that nothing was out of place.

It was a routine established as much by trial and error as by common sense. Hermione liked to think that it was as close to perfection as it could be.

True darkness fell, and the church's activity finally reached its minimum. Content that all was well, Hermione stepped out onto the church's small portico. The night was still and quiet; a luxury compared to the activity of the day. It had started to snow, just as Joshua predicted. It had been a good decision to bring her team in early. The temperature had dropped significantly – into the single digits, she suspected, perhaps even below freezing when the wind blew.

Hours passed. Hermione undid the buttons of her coat and embraced the cold. Too many watches before her had looked without seeing, and the lapse had resulted in severe injuries. One was a fatality – the death of the watchman himself. There were only seven people she trusted enough to maintain a night watch. She was one of them.

One of the others put his hand on her shoulder. She did not need to see Bill Weasley's scarred face to know it was him.

"You should be sleeping," she scolded lightly.

"So should you. It's Cole's night tonight."

"He fought hard today, and I thought I saw him limping on the walk home. He deserves a rest."

"You don't?"

"It was your night yesterday," she pointed out evasively.

"And you came out to keep me company," he rebutted, correctly. "We're breaking even."

Hermione smiled and took his hand. She was happy for his company and grateful that he didn't need to hear it.

"I heard you had a good day."

She shrugged; _good_ was a relative term. "We cleared out a few restaurants on Neal Street."

"Any other day, you'd be giddy with the victory."

She shrugged again. "Winter is ending."

Bill scoffed. "We didn't have much of a winter to begin with. Too mild, hardly any snow. Way more Hosts than we're used to seeing around this time. It'll probably only be another month or two before warm weather arrives for good."

"This season's kill totals are the lowest we've had," she said.

He nodded. "We've had to range much farther for supplies, too. Our trip tomorrow will take us an hour."

"Round trip?"

"Each way."

Hermione bit her lip. After two years in the same place, it was inevitable that they would use up the resources available to them. She had hoped they could stretch them at least one more year, but an hour each way for necessities was risky. It would be downright dangerous in the spring and summer months, when Host and Burrower activity peaked.

"We need to begin to look for another place to settle." Bill's voice was low and gentle, but it did nothing to soften the truth.

Still, Hermione shook her head. She did not want to consider it. "Moving thirty people with all of our supplies?"

"Just because we haven't done it before doesn't mean it's impossible."

"I didn't say it was _impossible_." Her voice was tense. "We'd have to split up and move in shifts, with one witch or wizard per group. We'd use trolleys for the supplies. It would take the better part of a season."

"Maybe even a year, depending on how far away the new place is."

Hermione sighed and leaned into Bill's chest, trying to draw some comfort from his warmth and steadiness. It didn't work, and she straightened again, preferring the cold.

"This summer is going to be bad," she said. "Burrower and Host presence will be high. We'll stay here for the season, and move nearer to autumn or winter."

"Our stocks…"

"We can send smaller parties. They'll travel faster. Attract less attention."

"They'll be weaker," Bill countered. "Four pairs of eyes are better than three."

"And three pairs of eyes are better than two, and two pairs of eyes are better than one, yet even with both of us looking, there doesn't seem to be another solution."

Bill sighed; she was instantly sorry for snapping at him.

Hermione crossed her arms; she had to make him understand.

"Do you remember last spring?"

Bill dropped his arms and stepped away from her. She took her eyes off the road to look at him and was both satisfied and disgusted with what she saw. Bill's eyes – usually such a clear, bright blue, just like Ron's had been – clouded over and darkened with grief.

He remembered last spring. Of course he did. That was when his daughter became infected.

There had been a rainbow that day. A rare sight for London at any time of year, but irresistible to five year old Victoire. She burst from the front door before anyone could grab her and made it as far as the street before she was attacked. Surrounded. Swallowed.

A piercing shriek. A cry for her father. Her honey-blonde hair streamed as her body fell to the ground and disappeared, engulfed by Burrowers. The double-pop of her jaw dislocating was horrendously loud, but not as loud as her screams of pain and fear as her tongue was shredded. Her body thrashed for twenty seconds as the female Burrower tore through her hard palate, shattered the base of her skull, and attached to her cerebellum. Twenty seconds of utter silence, except for the crisp _snap_ of young bones breaking.

Victoire was dead. Then nightmare began: the slow, lurching rise of a Host in the shape of a loved one.

As soon as he had realized what was happening, Bill dashed out of the church. The only reason he himself wasn't worse than dead was because of his immunity to the male Burrower's paralytic poison. An immunity that came courtesy of the weak lycanthropy virus that ran through his veins.

He had killed every Burrower he could get his hands on that morning, but he did not have strength enough to decapitate and burn the thing that had consumed his daughter.

Hermione had.

Watching Bill suffer through the loss of his child was impossibly hard. What it felt like to have actually _lost_ her, Hermione could not begin to imagine. It wasn't a surprise that Bill had changed after that. They were coming up on the one-year anniversary of the attack. He'd recovered somewhat – moved on, come to terms, _whatever_. But when it rained, or when someone was pitiless enough to remind him of it, she could see what he lost, like tearing the skin of a barely-healed wound.

They were silent for a long time. The snow had stopped, leaving a fine dusting upon the ground. Then, Bill sighed.

"We can't stay here forever."

It took a moment for her to reply. "I know."

"There will never be a good time for a move."

"But some times are better than others."

"You should send scouts out now. They can get a lead on new locations. When we really need to move, we'll be ready. As ready as we can be."

Hermione grimaced. "We can't spare the resources."

"The scouting party can find food while they travel."

"_People_, Bill. I mean _people_."

"I'll lead it."

The urge to tell him no was strong. She bit her tongue to keep from shouting it. The wind gusted, howling and crying through the nooks of the old church. As it died, the howling continued.

Almost simultaneously, they drew their wands. Bill shoved his way in front of her.

"We have at least two weeks until the full moon," Hermione whispered. "They can't be-"

"_Quiet_," Bill hissed. "Did that sound human to you?"

It was a rhetorical question. Hermione glowered at his tone, but remained silent. Fenrir Greyback's attack on Bill was hardly a blessing, but his slightly more attuned senses made him one of the best scouts they had.

Another cry drifted from the dark, softer and more plaintive. The word, "Help."

"_That_ was human," Hermione said certainly. She muscled her way in front of Bill. His hand clamped around her upper arm, preventing her from taking another step.

"Wait."

The darkness shifted. A figure staggered toward their sanctuary.

Bill swore violently and shoved Hermione into the door of the church.

"Sound the alarm. Post four people at the back entrance and station another six on the second floor. Assemble everyone else at the altar. Make sure they're armed."

"Bill-"

"Now, damn it! GO!"

"_No_! Will you calm down?" She shoved past him once more and ripped her arm away from his clutching fingers. "It could be human!" she hissed.

"Or it could be Host!"

"It's below five Celsius!" Hosts didn't do well below five degrees Celsius. Burrowers had trouble functioning under ten.

"You think we should take that chance?"

"I don't think we should curse first and ask questions second!" she barked over her shoulder. "Back _off_, Bill. Whoever that is may need our help."

"_Your_ help," he snapped, turning on her. "You can play with your life, but you have no right to play with mine."

"Yes, I am quite aware," she deadpanned. She took another step away from him, never taking her eyes off the figure. "If it looks like I'm in trouble, raise the alarm. Otherwise, just watch my back."

She could hear his teeth grinding as she stepped off the portico. She was about two steps away from the gate when Bill yelled, "That's far enough!" She only raised her hand in acknowledgement.

She was close enough now to see that the figure stumbling toward her was a man. He raised his hand at her, too, then tripped over his own feet.

Clumsiness. That wasn't a good sign. She raised her wand and leveled it at his head.

"Stop right there!" she yelled. "Stop!"

The man obeyed without question. That was good: Hosts were incapable of reason.

"Are you infected?"

He shook his head, and Hermione was once again on her guard. If a Host _were_ somehow able to carry on a conversation, the facial injuries sustained upon infection would have been enough to prevent it.

"Are you _infected_?" she shouted again. "Answer me!"

"No!" came the man's hoarse reply. "I'm not infected! Please-" He surged forward a step. Hermione leapt backward out of his reach, and a sizzling jet of light blasted a hole in the concrete just to the left of him.

She would have yelled at Bill had his warning shot not been so effective. The man stopped immediately.

"Wizards?"

"Yes." Her answer was immediate. "You?"

The man paused for a moment, then answered bitterly, "Muggle."

"Name?"

"Graham. Graham Cortland. I'm injured. I need help."

She was sure he did. His clothes were in tatters, his entire body shook, and his voice was thick with exhaustion. There was a protocol in place for these things, however. Since she didn't recognize his name, she had to follow it to the letter.

"Take off your coat. And the balaclava."

"But it's freezing!" he stammered.

"I am losing my patience," she seethed, readjusting her grip on her wand. "_You_ are the one wandering around London in the middle of the night with nothing more than a coat and a hat. _I_ am the one with food and shelter, and I am quickly losing the urge to offer either. Now take off your thrice-damned coat, or I will turn you away right here."

Graham glared at her sourly. "You're a vicious bitch, you know that?"

She neither dignified him with a response nor bothered disguising her victorious expression as he unbuttoned his coat. From what she could see, he was weaponless, but she only lowered her wand when he took off his balaclava. His jaw was covered in a thick, dark beard, but otherwise un-extraordinary. His eyes were likewise present, and his face showed none of the bloat, bruising, or deformation that were hallmarks of Burrower infection.

She took a step backward and gestured toward the entrance of the church. "My name is Hermione Granger," she said tightly. "Welcome to St Giles-in-the-Fields."

Graham pocketed the balaclava, buttoned up his coat, and nodded to her as he walked past. She waited until she heard Bill's, "I've got him," before walking backward toward the door, her eyes still scanning the streets.

"You're insane, you know," Bill groused when she reached the portico.

"But not stupid," she countered, shooting Graham a quick, sideways glance. He stared back uncomfortably, as if he didn't know what to do. Hermione pulled Bill close and whispered instructions in his ear. "Put Ed and Laurel on perimeter patrol, Keenan and Gus at the doors, and Kim in the steeple."

"She won't like that," Bill remarked _sotto voce_.

"I don't care what she likes. This is what needs to happen. From what I could see, he's not armed, but he could have a cell phone. He may be a spy from another group. We need to be ready for an attack."

"I'll tell Amanda to trade with Kim when it gets too cold."

"Do what you have to. We'll be in the office getting better acquainted."

Bill sent the stranger a glare, then disappeared to dispense orders at Hermione's stern look. She pointed her wand at Graham once more, who put up one hand in surrender. The other arm he held against his chest with his hand in plain sight.

"I'm not armed."

"That doesn't mean you aren't dangerous. Walk."

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed. Hermione directed him through the nave to the small office in the sacristy.

"Strip."

He looked at her like she was insane. "I'm not-"

Golden sparks shot from the tip of her wand. "I don't care what you _say_ you are," she snapped. "If I have to ask you to do _anything_ a second time from here on, I'm going to throw you out. Is that clear?"

Graham paused to weigh his options. Apparently, he found them in favor of obeying and shrugged off his coat. He glanced quickly at the door.

"You might as well forget about modesty," Hermione said, interpreting his glance. "There are thirty of us, three bathrooms, and one shower. _If_ we decide to keep you here, you will become very close to the others very quickly."

"You'll let me stay?" Graham asked quickly.

"Well, I won't know the answer to that _until you strip_."

At long last, he realized just how thin the ice he stood upon was and his fingers flew to the hem of his shirt. In a matter of minutes, he was naked except for his shorts and socks. He stood there shivering as Hermione visually and magically inspected each article of his clothing. Aside from some fidgeting as she ran her hands over his hips, buttocks, and genitals, Graham tolerated the inspection well.

She paused as she reached his left forearm. Several deep scrapes marred his skin; one still bled.

"How did you get these?" She conjured a bowl and rinsed the wounds with a gentle stream of water from her wand.

"Climbed a fence." He did not elaborate.

"Not very well." She bandaged his wound as best she could. "I'm not the best Healer here, but those should do for tonight. If they give you any problems, talk to Magdalene. You can get dressed now. Bill?"

He poked his head around the door. "Yes?"

"A plate of food and a cup of tea, please."

He nodded and left at once. Hermione turned toward Graham once more.

"Take a seat," she instructed.

He did so gratefully, and she did the same on the opposite side of the desk, placing her wand so that it was in his sight and within her reach. Graham eyed it warily, just as she'd hoped. Using magic as a threat was not her favorite type of persuasive argument, but it was certainly effective.

"Where are you from?"

"London."

She scowled. "That's not what I meant."

He sat up straighter, apparently realizing that his inspection had not yet concluded. "Near Marylebone. There was a group of us there. Small – about eight regulars. Two or three came and went.

"What happened to leave you wandering the streets alone at night?"

"Rotten luck." He muttered his thanks as Bill returned with dinner and tea. Bill took a seat next to Hermione and watched with shrewd eyes as Graham ate.

"We were moving around, trying to find a fresh area," he explained around bites of food. "We overestimated our abilities a few nights ago. We hadn't reached our next scouted camp yet, but it was getting dark. We decided to stop at an un-scouted location. A house."

Bill scoffed, and Graham stopped eating to glare at him. Hermione was grudgingly impressed: not many could stare at Bill like that. The scars tended to throw people off.

"We had elderly and young," Graham spoke to Hermione but stared at Bill. His voice was brittle with unnatural calm. "It's dangerous for them to travel at night."

"It's more dangerous to camp at an un-scouted location."

"You don't think we knew that?"

"Apparently you didn't, or else the rest of you would be-"

"_Bill_!" Hermione shot him a quelling look. He quailed only the slightest and leaned back in his chair. She waited until he took a few deep breaths and could suppress his territorial instincts. She turned back to Graham. "What happened?"

Graham looked between her and Bill with narrowed eyes, but gave up trying to decipher what had passed between them. He took a sip of tea and continued. "We did a preliminary scout, but it was dark. We missed a nest in the basement, tucked in behind some half-rotten drywall. My second in command and I got away. The rest…"

Graham shrugged in forced nonchalance, but his eyes shone. Every Survivor had witnessed death by infection, but even with the time and experience, the loss of a life – a true, _human _life – was not something one ever grew accustomed to.

"What happened after that?" Bill asked sharply.

"There was no way we could have managed our scouted location. We changed plans and headed toward Buckingham."

Bill growled loudly. Hermione laid a hand on his arm without taking her eyes from Graham. Not for the first time, she wondered if this stranger was insane.

Graham looked confused at their expressions. "You… You don't know what's at Buckingham Palace?"

"'Course we know," snapped Bill. "What we _don't _know is why any self-respecting human would _willingly_ go there."

"Protection." He said it like it should have been obvious, and the tone brought Bill to his feet.

"Greyback doesn't offer protection!" he yelled. "That bastard doesn't _give_ unless he _gets_!"

"We had weapons!" Graham protested. "Food!"

"You think he gives a shit about any of that? What Greyback wants is _flesh_, and you more than happily obliged him!"

Graham shot to his feet, his cheeks red with anger beneath his beard. "I did what I thought was best!" he yelled, jabbing a finger at Bill's chest. "We didn't have any other options!"

"There are always other options! What you did was as good as murder!"

"You-"

"That's enough!" shouted Hermione, jumping to her feet and inserting herself between the two men. She put a hand on Bill's chest and shoved. She barely moved him an inch, but did manage to get his attention. He turned his snarl on her, but she had grown immune to its power. "Bill, please leave."

"No, I need-"

"What you _need_," she interrupted, "is to _calm down_. _Leave_."

With a final snarl at Graham, he turned and left. When she was certain he would not return, she turned to Graham, who looked too triumphant for her liking.

"Did I touch a nerve?" he snarked.

"Several," she snapped, "and next time it happens, I won't stop him from ripping you apart."

"You would let-"

"I won't _let_ him do anything, but even I can't stop him if his anger gets out of control."

She did not elaborate, but that seemed to be enough for Graham to think about. She retook her seat, as did Graham. After taking a moment to collect herself, Hermione resumed their conversation.

"How did you get away? Greyback isn't known for his philanthropy."

"We drew straws. My second in command went first. Once he didn't come back, I… I ran."

He turned his eyes to the floor, and Hermione kept silent. She was in no position to judge.

"What made you think he'd look at you any differently?"

"Nothing," Graham croaked. "Absolutely nothing. But what other options did we have? We had lost our home, our group. We had no food, little ammunition. This life…" Graham put his elbows on his knees and clasped his bandaged arm. "This _existence_ isn't easy."

"You think I don't know that?"

He raised his eyes to look at her. "No. You know it better than most. You know what it feels like to be desperate, to be out of options. And if you don't, then you will soon. You'll have to make the same kind of choice I did, and you'll have to live with whatever happens afterwards. Just like me."

She met his challenging look. When neither of them looked away after a minute, Hermione spoke.

"If you're going to stay here, you'll be required to pull your weight. You will stick to rations, make your rounds, and keep out of trouble. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Your first few days here may be rough. You're another mouth to feed, which means that everyone else will be getting less. If you prove yourself, the others will come around sooner than later."

"I can handle it."

"We'll see."

She must've sounded dire. Graham considered her for a moment, then said slowly, "Say, for argument's sake, that I can't."

"Go to Bill. He'll help you."

He paused a beat. "And if my problems are with him?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Then I suggest you resolve them quickly on your own. I do not tolerate fighting."

After a moment of obvious internal conflict, Graham nodded. It would take him a while to transition from leader to follower. She could only hope he made it soon and with as little conflict as possible.

"Follow the corridor and take the stairs up to the second floor. Ask for Ana. She'll show you where you can sleep, introduce you to a few people, and assign you your rounds."

Graham nodded and stood. "Thank you," he said. "I really-"

Hermione cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Assimilate," she said. "Know your role. That will be thanks enough."

He hesitated and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more. He thought better of it after a moment and left without another word. Hermione waited until she heard the door open and close before leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.

It wasn't odd to hear of survival groups seeking succor with the werewolves, though it was strange to meet one who had escaped with his life. Most who managed to escape were disemboweled or gored past healing, magical or otherwise. Walking corpses, too destroyed even for the Burrowers to consider.

She grimaced at the thought. Gored by werewolves or reanimated by Burrowers. What pleasant lifestyle alternatives they had.

She rolled her eyes at her own morbidity and turned her chair to look out the window. Some days, it already felt like her group was teetering on the edge of survival and ruin. The mild winter foretold a verdant spring and a sweltering summer. Each promised difficulties that Hermione was not sure her group would survive. However, despite her grim outlook, she was not nearly desperate enough to consider seeking help from a monster like Greyback.

She ardently hoped she never would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hermione stood beneath the portico, waiting. After four hours, she stepped into the church and called for Ed and Terry. The men assembled before her at once.

"Bill, Devon, and Nicole should have been back an hour ago. This is their route." She shoved a hand-drawn map into Ed's hands. "Find them."

"Yes, ma'am," said Ed. They disappeared into the church and Hermione returned to her place on the portico. The next time she saw them, both men were bundled in the finest winter gear they could find. They nodded at her as they passed, and Hermione nodded at them in return. No words needed to be said; they had their orders, after all. She watched as they faded into the distance.

After six hours, Hermione's limbs were numb from the cold. Ana brought her a cup of tea, which Hermione accepted and immediately set aside. The young girl huffed in annoyance then turned and walked away. Hermione couldn't bother to offer an apology or even feel ashamed.

She had to stare at the empty road before her. She had to will Bill and the others to appear. She had to not think about the possibility of Hosts adapting to tolerate the colder temperatures. She had to not think about what a now six-and-a-half hour delay from a two-and-a-half hour supply run meant for the group. She had to not think about what it would mean for _her_.

Yes – as long as she kept her mind busy and blank, she could keep herself together.

A little past the seventh hour, Hermione saw them. Five shapes in the distance: one in front, two in the middle, and two in the rear. She withdrew her wand, uncertain of what she meant to do with it, knowing only that it felt right and comforting in her hand, like another way she could keep control when all she wanted to do was rage, tear, and scream at the man who had caused her so much anxiety.

Her mouth was grim and her eyes hard as they approached. She could see them more clearly now. All appeared unharmed, although none looked particularly pleased. She assumed the cold had something to do with their bleak expressions until she saw the half-filled supply carts.

The team split when they reached the front gate. Ed and Terry went around back with Devon and Nicole to unload and restock. Bill continued forward to meet her. There was no shame or guilt in his expression. His lack of remorse fueled her fury.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

"Scouting," was his nonchalant reply.

She saw red and clenched her fist around her wand. "Your excursion was for _supplies_," she seethed. "Supplies _only_."

"Did you not see what we brought back? Not much, was there?" Before she had a chance to respond, he continued. "All of our caches were raided. There was _nothing_. We ranged a few more miles out. Picked up some food, a little ammunition, but most of the places we checked were barren. Since we were already out, I figured I'd try to soothe two dragons with one spell."

"_And_?" The question was barely audible over the sound of her grinding teeth.

Bill shook his head. "Nothing. We need to go farther still. It could take more time than I thought. We have to start looking for a new place _now_. Stake our claim before we get into real trouble."

Hermione scowled in the face of Bill's earnestness, but it was difficult to argue her point. The half-empty carts made the severity of their situation clearer than any of Bill's arguments could. So she swallowed her pride, quelled her fear, and met his eyes without flinching.

"When can you be ready to go?"

Bill straightened and his eyes widened. Hermione resisted the urge to scowl again: why was he so damn surprised?

"Two days," he said. "I need tonight to gather a team and rest. Tomorrow to pack."

She thought for a moment. "Take three others with you."

"Two," Bill countered.

She frowned. "Two, but one must be a magic user."

Bill frowned deeper. "No. There are only five of us as it is. I'm not leaving you with only two."

"And I'm not letting you leave without one."

They stared each other down, then Bill muttered, "Fine. I'll take Everett. And Alex," he said as an afterthought.

"Good." Everett was the most logical choice. Magdalene, though a fantastic Healer, was getting up there in years, and, though young and in shape, Martine had very little fieldwork. Everett was in his early fifties and an ex-Magical Law Enforcement officer. His experience and caution would temper Bill's enthusiasm. Alex was a Muggle a few years younger than Hermione. While not the best shot in the group, he was certainly the quickest. It was a good group. They would keep each other safe.

"You'll take Pig, too," she added.

Bill let out one, loud, "HA!" When he saw that Hermione wasn't smiling, his humor disappeared. "You can't be serious?"

"Why would I joke about that?"

"Hermione… Pig is just so… So…"

She knew exactly what Bill thought of Pig: that he was too excitable to be useful and too small to defend himself against other birds who might see him as prey. But ever since Victoire's death, Bill had not been able to produce a Patronus. Everett had never learned and, when Hermione tried to teach him, couldn't produce more than a wisp of smoke. Ron's old owl was their only alternative.

She sincerely did not want to bring up Victoire twice in one week, but Bill had that stubborn look about him. A Weasley trademark. So, she chose her words carefully.

"Is there another method you would prefer?"

That, coupled with a pointed look, seemed to drive her point home. Bill glared at her; Hermione ignored the resentment in his blue eyes.

"I want updates every day."

"And what will you use if you get into trouble?"

"We aren't useless without you, you know," she snapped. "We have the numbers against most other groups. We'll be fine."

Bill crossed his arms before his chest and looked anywhere but at her. As she started to wonder whether or not she should leave him, he spoke.

"I wish-"

Her reaction was immediate. "Don't say it."

But it was too late. "-I didn't have to go."

Their eyes met. Bill's were so familiar and kind, so tender. Hermione felt her eyes prickle and dropped her gaze to the ground. She took his hand.

"It's no good wishing," she said quietly. "Wishing doesn't change anything."

"But it makes me feel better," he said softly, placing a finger beneath her chin and tilting it upwards. "I'll find a place for us," he whispered. "I _will_."

"I know." Her voice shook. She suddenly realized that she didn't believe him.

But Bill believed her. He lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It was wrong – felt _wrong_ – and Hermione endured it only for as long as she had to before pushing him away.

"You need to go warm up," she chided as lightly as she dared.

Bill smiled and stroked her chin, then her cheek. "So do you. Go get Kendra. She has night watch."

Hermione made an affirmative noise in the back of her throat, intending to do no such thing. Bill must have seen that, before cause smiled and shook his head. "I'll see you later," he said, and with another kiss – one which lingered a bit longer than the first – he opened the door and disappeared into the church, leaving Hermione alone and heavy-hearted.

Hermione and Bill had said their goodbyes long ago. The most she could bear to hear from him whenever he left was a wish for good luck. That was all she ever gave him in return.

As he stood at the door with Alex and Everett waiting behind him, he looked perilously close to breaking tradition. Though she dreaded something emotional and drawn-out, Hermione wouldn't blame him if he did. This scouting trip was the first long-term mission they had taken on in years. They were carrying very few supplies, had only a vague idea of which direction to travel, and ran a very real risk of losing their lives to Burrowers or Hosts in the process.

Hermione shifted from one foot to the other. The silence persisted for too long.

"I hope the weather stays cold like this."

It was lame, but it was as close as she could get to good luck. Bill was much braver and stepped forward, sweeping her into a hug.

"Stay safe," he whispered into her ear.

Tears stung her eyes. "You, too," she whispered back. "And send Pig. I want updates every day."

Bill let her go and smiled, cupping her cheek tenderly. Then he turned, and all three men walked out of the door and into the cold.

Hermione held herself back until the door closed, then walked to the window.

She could never feel for Bill how she felt for Ron. She had loved Ron ever since she'd started to discover what love was, and his death had taken that part of her with him. Bill's heart was likewise buried, one half with Fleur and the other with Victoire. They had come together not from desire, but from necessity: Bill needed to feel anything but pain; Hermione needed to connect with another person before she forgot how to connect at all.

The relationship that had formed between them varied almost daily. She could be distant, and he could be clingy. She could want a fight, and he could be so withdrawn that he wouldn't speak for days. Their lovemaking was likewise erratic: quiet and tender, or rough and full of the sounds of their shared grief. Neither worked at it. Neither wanted to. And because of that, what existed would never be more than a deep, mutual affection.

It could never be _love_.

As all three men disappeared around the first corner, however, Hermione felt her stomach knot. Though she could never love Bill, she clearly felt what a terrible blow it would be to lose him.

Pig arrived late afternoon the following day. The note he carried was short: they were fine, they were still looking, they'd write tomorrow. Hermione sent him away without penning a response of her own and tried not to think about tomorrow until it came.

Tomorrow did come, as did the next day and the day after that.

No notes came with them.

Panic settled in deeply. It became Hermione's bones and breath, and she threw herself into work to stop it from becoming her skin, too. She helped only where required, careful not to disturb the routines of others or cause any questions that would not be considered routine. She braved the cold to gather wood for their cooking fire and aided in meal preparation, distribution, and cleanup. She recast warming charms in draughty parts of the church and relit any extinguished bluebell flames that lit the hallways and common areas. She relieved those on night and steeple watch by volunteering herself. She did this more through selfishness than sympathy: she could watch both street and sky alike, whereas others would just watch the former.

She accompanied every foray into the field, occasionally leading. She poured all her frustration and fear into her spells, and the results were not at all like her usual, clean kills. These cuts were jagged, ripping instead of slicing through flesh. She came home splattered with gore and refuse, smelling like death itself, but feeling somehow lighter.

Only during the hunts did she feel at all free. At all other times, she forced herself into a calm she did not remotely feel so that others did not catch her panic. It worked for a few days, but by the fourth day of Bill's absence – the third of his silence – Magdalene had caught on.

The old witch pulled Hermione into one of the confessionals, cornering her. She spoke in a sharp hiss.

"When have you last eaten? Or slept?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but her mind could not come up with a convincing lie. She closed it and looked away from Magdalene's rheumy brown eyes.

"That's what I thought," she snapped. "We need you to keep it together."

"I have been," Hermione fired back. "I've done everything-"

"You're not supposed to do everything! You are supposed to do what is _assigned_. Nothing more. Keep to the schedule. _Know your role._"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheeks. How often had she chided those who tried to take on extra with those same words? However desperate she might be for distraction, it was not a good excuse for ignoring policy. Nor did she relish the reputation of hypocrite. Such a thing could be disastrous for a leader.

"I'll go to the kitchen," Hermione said.

"Then to bed," finished Magdalene. "No arguing."

Hermione didn't even try. She accompanied Magdalene to the kitchen and sat obediently at the table as the older witch prepared a plate. She watched with fists on her hips as Hermione finished every bite.

By the end of the meal, the fog that had descended over Hermione's consciousness lifted somewhat. She looked up at Magdalene with what felt like new eyes. Magdalene studied her shrewdly and then nodded, as if what she saw pleased her.

"To bed," she said at once. She walked Hermione down to her private room. The room she often shared with Bill.

She stared at the mattress, and felt another missing piece slide into place. She had neither eaten nor slept in three days. She had been functioning at a very minimum level. She had put the entire group at risk because of it. That kind of self-interest was intolerable.

She turned to Magdalene. Her eyes must have shown much more than they had the previous days because the witch's bony shoulders finally relaxed.

"Thank you," Hermione said softly. "I'll be okay now."

"Good. See that you stay that way."

Magdalene shut the door firmly, and Hermione smiled. The old witch reminded her strongly of Minerva McGonagall: strict, but motivated by compassion. The memory was warm and painful, and Hermione suddenly felt the toll of three days without sleep. She peeled off her shoes and denims and stripped down to her undershirt. She lay down upon the mattress and curled herself around Bill's pillow, hugging it close. She breathed in his scent, and, before she could think of missing him, fell asleep.

She was standing on a bridge over the Thames, looking down. The river was dark, and though there was no wind and no one in the water, it rippled gently, folding over itself like hot metal being poured. She leaned closer. A wave of heat rose and buffeted her face. She leaned back again, moving slowly. That's when she noticed the fog. White and grey clouds swirled and surrounded her. It was hot, just like the water had been, and grew thicker as she stared. They bore down on her, and Hermione inhaled.

Her eyes flew open.

_Smoke_.

The door exploded from its hinges. She flung herself from her mattress, drawing her wand and rolling into the corner, where she crouched and took aim at the intruder.

It was Graham. His eyes were wide and frantic and his skin was singed. White-grey clouds billowed in the hallway behind him.

"Fire!" he shouted. "We need to go!"

By the time he had finished, she had already grabbed the sheets from the mattress. "Supplies!" she yelled, fighting to be heard over the loud crackle-pop from the hallway. She grabbed anything she thought could be useful – spare clothes, coats, blankets, pillows, batteries, torches – and threw it into the center of the mattress.

Graham shoved her out of the way. "Get dressed!"

She leapt away and darted around the room, pulling on her denims, socks, two jumpers, and all of her outdoor apparel. She stowed her gloves in her pocket as Graham gathered the corners of the sheet. She helped him tie them together and watched as he heaved the sack over his shoulder. He picked up an empty pillowcase with his free hand and tossed it at her.

"For the smoke!"

She tossed it back to him just as quickly and aimed her wand. He stilled. She could see the panic in his eyes, but she cast before he could dodge it. She turned her wand on herself a second later. "Bubblehead charm," she explained, and though it couldn't have made much sense, Graham didn't ask. With another wave, the sack on Graham's shoulder became feather-light. He shot her a shrewd look. She simply glared.

"_Move_!"

He obeyed, and she followed him out. The hallway filled with smoke, thickening with each second. Panic coursed through her as she thought of those on the second floor, where the smoke would be thickest.

"Front is blocked!" His words were muffled by the charm. "We need to go out the back!"

Hermione nodded and shoved him toward it. "I'll meet you-"

"NO!" He caught her arm and yanked her against him. "This whole place is going-"

"The others! I need to make sure-"

"Steeple's already go-"

"Out! We need sup-"

"Be the organ next! There's no time! We need to-"

His next words were drowned out by a tremendous, shuddering creak. They stilled, and Hermione slowly looked up. A great crack spread its way through the old ceiling, sprinkling them with plaster dust as light and fine as snow.

"That organ will bury us," he said firmly. "You're of no use to anyone dead."

Hermione considered him for a beat, then nodded. Sacrifice was the first and hardest lesson of survival, but she'd learned it well. "Let's go."

Graham grabbed her hand, and together, they dashed out of the church. The cold air was like a slap to the face. Hermione didn't turn around until they had reached the very edge of the churchyard. Graham dropped the bundle in the snow and turned with her.

It was like something from a nightmare. Flames poured from the windows at the church's east end, blackening the stone. The steeple was gone; great splinters were all that remained, shooting up through the destroyed roof and piercing the midnight sky like knives. Another shuddering creak connected with something in Hermione's gut, and she staggered. Graham swore and grabbed her shoulders, steadying her.

He let go of her not a second later, screaming and lunging toward the church. Hermione followed his path with her eyes and then she saw it: a smoking figure crawling out of the back entrance. She sprinted after him.

"It's Sera!" he shouted when she was just steps away. She skidded to a stop. The thing before her didn't look like Sera. Her clothes had burned away almost entirely on her left side, and the exposed skin, normally so pale and freckled, was a bright, shiny pink. What remained of her thick blonde hair was charred and smoking.

"Grab her other arm!" Graham shouted. Sera screamed the moment he touched her. He dropped her and leapt away as if she were fire itself.

"Stand back!" With a sharp swish-and-flick, Hermione levitated Sera off the ground and ran. Sera whimpered in pain with each step Hermione took, and she could do nothing but keep up a steady stream of platitudes and apologies to try to comfort her.

Graham passed them quickly. He dove for the bundle, untying it swiftly and pulling out the supplies. He filled several pillowcases with snow and cold mud. Hermione lowered her onto the blanket he'd laid out and turned to him.

"We need to keep her cool. I'm going to look for others."

He nodded. "The Hosts! They'll be-"

"Put anyone healthy enough to hold a gun on guard."

His eyes flitted down to Sera then away quickly, like the sight of her was more than he could bear. "Can't… Can't you help her?" His voice shook.

Hermione looked at Sera, too. Her left hand was almost entirely black, and the skin of her wrist and forearm had turned bright white. Yellow pus bubbled from under the exposed tissues of her torso and hip, and her leg was pink and uneven with blisters. Her face, though… Her lips and half of her nose were gone, and her cheek burned straight through. Hermione could see her teeth and tongue and a flash of white that may have been mandible.

"Not how she needs it," was her quiet reply.

She and Graham exchanged a final look, and Hermione sprinted toward the church again, heading toward the front door. She felt a wave of relief as she saw four people grouped together: Muggles Ed, Ana, and Joshua, and the witch Magdalene.

"Hermione!" Magdalene ran toward her and wrapped her into a tight hug. "We thought… We all thought that…"

She took the older woman by the shoulders. "I'm fine, as is Graham. Sera…" She looked at Ed with pity in her eyes. "Sera's hurt." Ed paled. "How are you all?"

"Ed's got a nasty gash on his leg and Joshua's burned his arm," Magdalene answered promptly. "I've done the best that I could for them. They should live."

"We're fine," interrupted Joshua. "Where do you need us?"

"Ed, you're with Graham and Sera. Help him however he needs it. Joshua, you and Ana circle the church and look for others. Bring them to Graham – you'll see him. Be careful – the Hosts will be attracted to the light and heat. Magdalene, you're with me."

"If Sera's hurt-"

Hermione cut Magdalene off with a look and a small shake of her head. She thought she saw Ed waiver.

"There will be time to grieve later," Hermione said loudly. "We need to be strong now. Understand?"

Everyone nodded and broke off quickly. Hermione turned to Magdalene.

"Where did the fire start?"

"East end," she said. "It's too late for up here. The steeple…" Her voice caught. Hermione felt her own throat tighten, too.

"West end, then. We have to try to put it out."

They hurried around, and Hermione spared a quick glance to Graham, Sera, and Ed. She saw that Ed had taken over Sera's care, and that Graham was scanning the street, looking far more comfortable with a shotgun than he did with a victim.

Hermione turned to Magdalene. "Aguamenti Maxima on three. Aim low. Ready? One, two…"

Before she could reach three, a horrible groan reverberated through the night, louder and longer than the ones before, joined by a low _cluuung_. The noise grew and peaked in a great crescendo as the organ collapsed, undoubtedly burying anyone still trying to escape.

In less than a minute, the last mournful echoes dissipated into the night. All that remained was the crackle-pop of fire consuming wood.

Hermione staggered once again. What little they had had disappeared in a single night. Their refuge of two years – their _home_ – was now no more than a smoldering ruin.

It was too much to take in. Too much to process and comprehend. Numb and quiet, Hermione turned and headed back toward Graham, Ed, and Sera. Magdalene followed. Joshua and Ana joined them a few minutes later. They reported no signs of life.

"What now?" asked Ana, wiping tears from her eyes. "What do we _do_?"

Hermione gave her a baleful look and shook her head. "I don't know," she croaked. "I don't…"

Magdalene laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and they all became silent.

She stared at the church for what felt like days, watching the flames rise, fall, then burn themselves out near dawn. Ash fell from the sky like snowflakes, crumbling to nothing as they landed on her hair and coat. There were only seven of them, now. Seven out of twenty-seven… Barely a quarter of what they had had.

She glanced from face to face. Magdalene's cheeks were smudged with ash. Her tears had long since dried. Ana's continued to flow, and she did not bother wiping them. Joshua's mouth was set in a hard line and he, like Graham, glared out at the street with his shotgun shouldered, ever vigilant. Ed cradled Sera's head gently in his hands, and his lost, vacant stare brought fresh tears to Hermione's eyes. Sera was doing poorly. Her chest rose and fell in odd, jerking intervals, and great blisters had formed on her torso, arm, leg, and face. Hermione had never seen burns so severe. She didn't expect Sera to last another day.

Hermione didn't expect herself to last, either. For the first time in a long while, she felt like giving up.

"How did this happen?" Graham's gravelly voice was the first to break the silence.

"I don't know," Magdalene said. "I was in the kitchen and smelled something burning. I checked my area, but I had nothing going."

"Upstairs," said Joshua quietly. "I think it started upstairs. One of the bluebell jars must have tipped, or been set too close to a curtain, or-"

"HOST!"

Hermione leapt to her feet and brandished her wand. Before she could cast a single spell, Graham fired. The blast was nearly deafening. The Host's head tottered, then fell to the ground. The body sank to its knees slowly, then fell prone onto the ground.

"Good eyes," Joshua said.

Graham muttered his thanks, but did not sit down again. "There will be more of them," he said. "We can't stay out here. We need shelter."

"But Sera, she can't-"

"It's okay, Ana," interrupted Ed softly. "It's… It's okay now."

Magdalene joined him and passed her wand over Sera's body. "She's gone."

Ed stood shakily, and Joshua put his arm around him for support. Everyone took several steps back. Then, Hermione spoke.

"Sera was selfless, brave, smart, and capable. She supported the group, and put the lives of many over her own. Everyone who knew her loved her. She will be missed."

Eulogy thus delivered, Hermione pointed her wand at Sera's corpse and set it aflame.

They stood in silence for a long while, watching what was left of their companion burn. One by one, they turned to Hermione for direction. She waited until all five faced her before speaking.

"Elms Lesters Painting Rooms," she said simply. "We'll stay there for now and wait for Bill and the others to return. It was last scouted a week ago, so be prepared for anything. I'll lead. Graham, take right flank."

"Bu-"

"_Right flank_," she snapped before he could interrupt further. "That is where we need you. Joshua bring up the rear. Ana, you support him. Magdalene and Ed handle the left flank. Are we clear?" They nodded. "Weapons ready?" All present checked their guns and reloaded if necessary. Magdalene readjusted her grip on her wand. Once all eyes were again on her, she nodded. "Let's go."

They made their way across the street swiftly and without incident. Hermione unlocked the door and eased into the foyer, her footsteps silent and sure.

"Foyer clear," Joshua announced as the last to enter. They held steady for a moment, waiting to see if his voice drew danger from the darkness. All was still.

"To the right," Hermione ordered. They moved as a unit, arms and shoulders in constant contact.

They traveled room-by-room, Hermione leading and Joshua calling out the room's status. They finished the first floor in ten minutes, then the second. They pulled their jackets close on the third floor – Elms Lesters glass ceiling had been destroyed, and the morning was cold. The third floor was declared safe and they made yet another sweep on their descent. When they reached the first floor, Hermione stopped at the only door they hadn't yet passed through: the door to the basement.

She glanced back to her team. They looked stern and ready. Burrowers and Hosts preferred darkness in which to pass their diapause. If they were going to encounter either creature in this abandoned studio, it would be in the basement.

She descended cautiously, her wand illuminating the space two feet in front of her in every direction. The rest of the group followed, their weariness abated by adrenaline-spiked fear. They made it to the bottom landing without incident. Then, there was a shuffling. The sound of long legs skittering across a cement floor.

"To your left!" shouted Ed.

Hermione's reflexes were whip-fast. "_Reducto_!" The Burrower – a male, as Hermione had caught a glimpse of its long, stinging proboscis – shattered into pieces. Another male immediately followed. Hermione destroyed that one, too.

"Right!" Graham yelled. "More from the right!"

The sharp report of a gunshot echoed through the bare basement. Magdalene shouted a spell of her own, and then, it was as if a beehive had burst. Awoken from their winter slumber by the noise and presence of warm, corruptible bodies, Burrowers came at them from all sides. For several minutes, they fought, and Hermione nearly track of what the others were doing in the chaos of light and sound. Twice, Graham and Ed had to reload. Ed fumbled with a magazine, and the hesitation nearly cost him his life. Ana blasted away the Burrower just before its stinger sunk into his leg.

Finally, the wave of creatures slowed, then stopped. Their weapons remained raised, and the tension only dissolved when Joshua remarked, "At least there weren't any Hosts."

Ed grunted his agreement.

"I can't believe there were so many so close to us," said Joshua. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "What would've happened when they all came out of hibernation?"

She swallowed thickly and shook her head. Though they were able to hold off this small horde easily enough, the idea of a group much larger than the one they'd just taken on was too daunting to contemplate. Hermione ordered the others out of the basement while she set them on fire, controlling the conjured flames with her wand and hands as effortlessly as a maestro does an orchestra. But it was only when she stepped out of the basement and barricaded the door behind her that she felt any sort of relief.

Once she reached the main room, she issued their orders. "Magdalene, seal the basement door as best you can and equip it with all the alarm spells you can think of. Do the same to rooms on the second and third story. If anything comes through, I want to know about it. Joshua, Ana, and Ed, go back to St Giles and scavenge whatever supplies you can find. Graham and I will make camp here in the main gallery."

The group broke at once to accomplish their tasks, and Hermione did her work as well, sealing windows and mending infinitesimal cracks in the baseboard. Graham approached her as she was inspecting a small hole in the corner of the room. He stood beside her in silence for a few moments as she worked, as if expecting her to say something. She would not oblige him, however, and soon, having grown too uncomfortable with the silence, Graham cleared his throat.

"How long has it been?"

She knew at once what he was talking about. "You know how long," she replied sourly.

"I find that the truth tends to settle in faster when spoken."

Hermione turned to face him and set her jaw. "Four," she bit out.

"Four what?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Four _days_," she seethed. "Four days with no word from Bill or the others."

Graham nodded. "Four days," he repeated. "What do you think that means?"

"That Pig is dead," she snapped. "Are there any other unpleasant truths you'd like to hear, or may I get back to my work?"

A smirk quirked the corner of Graham's mouth; Hermione had to repress the urge to slap it off him. "No, I think you realize what the church burning means. But I don't think you know what your next step should be."

"And you do?" She scowled; Graham shrugged. "Let's hear it, then," she dared. "What do _you_ think we should do?"

"We are going to make camp here. Get established, regroup. If we don't hear from Bill in the next few days, we're going to pack up and search for him ourselves. We'll most likely die in the process."

She crossed her arms. "And that's an acceptable outcome for you?"

"It's the only outcome."

His brown eyes met hers in a challenge, and what she saw set her jaw to clenching once more. She disliked Graham: his smug attitude, his galling air of superiority, his careless assumptions, and – most especially – his _tone_.

"Where would we start the search for Bill?" she snapped, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Which way has he gone? How long as he been walking? Do you know? Care to share? Because I have no bloody idea, and – while loss of life may be okay with _you _– it is _not _okay with me!"

"So we're going to stay here, then, are we?" he shot back. "Because that fire will attract Hosts, Burrowers, and who knows what else! We can't defend ourselves with so few people and no supplies! We'll be dead in three days!"

"That's why we're going to Buckingham."

Graham gaped at her. "Buckingham?" he spat. "After what happened to _me_? What makes you think you'll be treated any differently? What makes you think you won't be killed on sight?"

Hermione did not answer him. She wasn't sure she wouldn't be killed, but she had a feeling that Greyback would at least want to see her. Whether or not he would want to listen was more difficult to say.

"I leave tomorrow," she said evenly.

Graham balked at her for a moment longer, then cursed and stalked away. Once he was out of sight, Hermione folded her arms and leaned against the wall, taking just a moment to close her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Hermione woke early the next day to the sight of Graham sitting a few feet away, staring at her.

She stifled a gasp. "How long have you been there?"

He ignored the question. "I'm going with you."

She frowned and sat up, pulling her hair back into an elastic. "Oh really?"

"I'd rather die finding an answer than waiting for one," he replied with a sneer.

She considered him for a long moment, then nodded. The walk to Buckingham wasn't long, but that didn't mean it wasn't treacherous. Having Graham to watch her back couldn't hurt. "Fine. Pack your bag."

"Done." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I wasn't asking permission," he said lightly. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips: he certainly had not.

After a quick trip to the loo and a change of socks, Hermione lifted her pack onto her shoulders headed toward the door to meet Graham. He wasn't alone. Ana, Ed, Joshua, and Magdalene stood before him, blocking the door and looking determined.

"We're coming with you," said Joshua.

Hermione stifled a sigh. "No," she said evenly. "I need you here."

"And you don't need him here?" Ed asked sharply. He jerked his head back to indicate Graham. She felt a frisson of anger and shot a glance at the man in question. Graham met her look impassively. She had to fight to keep her face just as blank.

"He _volunteered-_"

"So do we," Ana said. Hermione wondered if this had been rehearsed.

"You'll need all the help you can get at Buckingham," Joshua continued. "_He_ won't be enough."

"_Graham_ is the one they're most likely to kill," Hermione said. "I am in very little danger compared to him. And if you think that I'm going to risk _your_ lives for _my_ safety-"

"It's not your decision!"

"And you're fine with risking _his_ life?"

"You've done the same for us. What makes him so different?"

"I have thought about this!" she shouted. "Graham is coming because he is uninjured. Ed, Joshua – you would only slow us down. He has much better aim than you, Ana, and, quite honestly, he's _expendable_. Magdalene, if we lose you, we lose our only Healer. We can't risk that. Graham has been to Buckingham before, so he knows what to expect. And if we are killed," she said tersely, meeting each of their eyes in turn, "you all will still have a chance. You have to stay here, protect each other, and watch out for Bill."

"But-"

Hermione silenced Joshua with a wave. "You know what needs to be done. Take the patrols in shifts. Communicate your needs. Work together, help each other, and be careful. Buckingham isn't far. We should be back by nightfall."

"And if you aren't?" Magdalene whispered.

Hermione furrowed her brow. That alternative was not worth thinking about yet. So as she reached the door, she gave the only answer she could: "Survive." It was enough to quell any further arguments and allow them to leave in silence.

Hermione and Graham continued the trend as they walked. They had nothing to discuss, and Hermione was far more concerned about the shadows that flickered behind the curtains of long-abandoned buildings. They were in unfamiliar territory now, vulnerable to attack from Hosts, Burrowers, and other Survivor groups. She kept her wand in hand, just as Graham kept his over his gun.

The sun, which shone when they left, was now covered by light grey clouds. She heard Graham swear as it started to snow. Hermione caught some of the flakes in her hand and watched as they melted.

"At least it's light," she muttered. Graham only grunted in reply.

Soon, they came to Piccadilly Circus. Hermione turned south down Regent. Graham continued left on Piccadilly. She looked over at him as soon as she noticed him straying from the path.

"Where are you going?"

He stared at her, too, confused. "Where are _you_ going?"

"Regent's faster."

"Piccadilly's safer. It'll take us to the back of Buckingham, and we'll avoid The Mall."

Hermione hesitated, then asked, "What's wrong with The Mall?"

"It's populated. Or it was. Hosts like to nest in places they're familiar."

"Oh, you've talked to one?" Her tone earned her another glare. "Familiar, unfamiliar… There's not enough human left in them to know the difference. Besides, Piccadilly was just as popular."

"But not as popular as The Mall."

Hermione set her chin and started toward him, beginning to regret her decision to bring him. Then, something large and swift moved from her right side, and she forgot everything else.

"GRAHAM!"

He had already seen the Host barreling toward him with teeth bared and arms outstretched. He drew his pistol and fired off two rounds. It staggered but did not stop the Host's approach.

"_Diffindo_!"

The Host groaned as half of its right arm fell to the ground. Hermione's stomach clenched as it turned its eyeless face toward her.

This Host had been a young woman. Her short blonde hair was matted with filth and her jaw was broken and unhinged. It hung from her face limply, attached only by the stretched skin of her bruised face. Her mouth was a mess of broken, rotting teeth, and her tongue was stunted and shredded. She was naked except for a few tenacious shreds of cloth. Where her skin wasn't cut, it was splotched green, grey, and white.

She pushed away her revulsion and cut the air with her wand. The charm stuck true, and the Host flinched as its head rolled from its shoulders and into the gutter. Its body followed immediately, striking the ground with a large, wet thud. With an awful, piercing shriek, the Burrower within died. Hermione did not hesitate before setting it on fire. Then she made her way to Graham.

"Did I hit you?"

Graham holstered his pistol and drew his shotgun. "No. You okay?"

"Fine. We must have-"

"_Fuck_!"

Graham shoved her down. His shotgun blasted, so loud it nearly deafened her. The hot casing burned her hand as it fell, and she felt more than heard the dull _thunk_ of another dead Host. She did hear the scream of its Burrower, however, and rolled over at once. The Host had been a man, burly and bearded. She set the corpse aflame with a flick of her wand. She took Graham's hand and got to her feet, brushing herself off.

"There must be a siege of them nearby. We should… What?"

He trailed off when he noticed Hermione's expression and turned around to follow her eyes. Then, he swore.

"Better reload that gun," she said faintly, though she had a feeling that all the ammunition in Graham's pockets couldn't stop the approaching horde.

Hosts of every shape and size emerged from the buildings around them. They shoved through doors in twos and threes and clambered out of windows. Some fell one or two stories, but hefted themselves up as if nothing had happened, driven by the scent of corruptible bodies, the sound of beating hearts, and the possibility of procreation.

"I've got twelve… fourteen… _Shite_."

"Twenty behind us. Graham…"

"Regent," he said.

That was all Hermione needed. With a shout, she dove forward, slashing the air with her wand as she went. She cut down five Hosts, and then they were free. They sprinted and skidded on the accumulating snow as they twisted and turned down the city streets. The Hosts followed with the swift _shuffle-thud_ of ex-human legs. Without looking, she sent a curse flying over her shoulder. A Host howled as its limbs fell to the ground, but the howl soon turned into a piercing shriek as the Burrower within was crushed by the horde.

Adrenaline surged through her as Buckingham Palace finally appeared, and Hermione seemed to fly, racing down the final stretch toward safety.

Just as she thought she was clear, an enormous arm looped around her middle, knocking the breath out of her and the legs from under her. She collapsed onto a broad chest and saw through fogged eyes that Graham had been taken, too. He struggled vainly, his human strength no match for that of a werewolf's. She turned her head toward the horde, and her heart skipped as she saw them set upon by members of Greyback's pack.

Her body rumbled as the man holding her chuckled.

"Fresh meat," he said and spun her around like she weighed nothing. He was huge and olive skinned, with thick hair and dark eyes. "Rare that we get a woman." He smirked, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. "Lucky us."

"Hold it, Kearne," said the thin, blond man holding a now unconscious Graham.

"C'mon, Drent. Just a bite."

"Greyback gets her first," Drent said with a growl. Kearne took a step back and dipped his head in submission.

"I need to speak with Greyback!" Hermione said as steadily as she could, addressing Drent. He lifted an eyebrow at her and said with a chuckle, "Don't know how much _speaking_ you'll do."

"Screaming, more like," added Kearne. Both men laughed.

"Please, just let me see-"

"This one doesn't know when to stop," said Kearne loudly.

Drent smiled wickedly. "Greyback doesn't like the stupid ones. Maybe we should just-"

"_Wait_."

Hermione stilled at once. His was a voice she would never forget: soft, but full of gravel, brimming with promises she both hoped and feared would be kept. Slowly, stiffly, she turned toward the source.

Fenrir Greyback stood before her, his teeth bared in a feral smile. A smile that faltered then widened as he recognized her. His yellow-brown eyes flashed and excitement rippled through him, dancing behind his eyes, raising the hair on his thickly muscled arms and broad chest, and stirring the bulge between his legs. Her cheeks flushed as Fenrir's nostrils flared.

"I smell you, _Hermione_," he said softly, stepping nearer. Kearne released her and stepped back. Unprepared for the fall, Hermione caught herself on her hands, but could not stand up before Greyback reached her. She froze on all fours at his feet. His toenails were thick and long, pointed like claws. The undersides were caked thick with mud. He squatted down before her and grabbed her chin. His fingernails were just as thick, but carefully honed to razor sharpness.

He angled her face toward his and stared. His strange eyes held her steady, and though Hermione was sure her face was expressionless, Greyback must have seen something he liked. He smiled again, baring his sharp, shining teeth, and chuckled lowly. The sound rippled through her, and her skin crawled with the memory of her capture at Malfoy Manor. He had held her tightly, his arms around her shoulders and his hands near her breasts, threatening to touch her but never actually making contact. He had toyed with her. Teased her. Thrilled her in a way that should have been repulsive and impossible, but was instead dangerously seductive. She hadn't known then whether to blame the adrenaline, his pheromones, or herself. She was equally at a loss now.

"I _smell_ you," he repeated, reaching his other hand to rest between her legs. Hermione quivered, and Greyback laughed again, louder this time. Then, he rose.

"Bring them in!" he snapped.

Kearne hefted her up and took his place next to Drent. Graham groaned and stumbled along, slowly regaining consciousness.

"Graham? It's okay," she said before he could start to struggle. Several sets of eyes turned to her. Even Greyback inclined his head. She swallowed thickly. "They're taking us into the palace. We're _okay_."

Graham had only enough time to scowl at her before Drent turned him forward.

"What the hell is going on?" Graham hissed, shooting her a sideways glance. "How does he know you? Why are we being taken in?"

Hermione hesitated. She wasn't sure how much Greyback had told them, nor how much was actually safe for her to say. As confident as she was that Greyback was at least intrigued, his temper was hardly consistent. He was volatile, just as likely to strike as to seduce. If those were her options, Hermione would choose the latter every time.

Greyback's voice rumbled back to them. "She's the one that got away." He turned to look over his shoulder and gave Graham a sly, wicked smile. "Now that I have her, I don't intend to let her go."

Hermione paled, and Graham turned to her with wide eyes. She'd never seen him quite so afraid before. "You brought me here to die."

"I didn't _bring_ you anywhere!" she hissed. "You volunteered!"

"If I had known this was going to be a suicide mission, I would've reconsidered!"

"You knew well enough what this was! It was your _own_ mission at one point, or have you forgotten?"

Kearne barked a laugh. "I thought he smelled familiar!"

"It's called soap, you cur."

Hermione barely had time to gasp as Kearne dropped her and curled his hand around Graham's neck.

Greyback was beside them in an instant. There was a flash of scarlet, a howl of pain, and then Kearne was gone, having bolted off into the garden to recuperate.

"Pups," muttered Drent.

Greyback stared after Kearne, slowly licking the blood off his lips. Then, he turned to Hermione. His eyes shone with desire and his body practically shivered with anticipation. Every muscle group was coiled, ready to spring into action if she so much as flinched away from him.

She knew better than that. Greyback had caught her once, and she'd gotten away before he could do any more than threaten. They'd met again at Hogwarts when she blasted him off Lavender Brown. Twice, she had gotten the better of him. He would not let there be a third time.

That was why she did not run, though every single atom in her body screamed for it. Greyback would like nothing better than to hunt her, catch her, and have his way with her. He may eventually get his wish, but not before she tried to save her group. Even if it didn't work, she at least had to try.

Disappointed that he did not get the reaction he wanted, Greyback growled and pivoted back towards the palace. Drent grabbed her other arm, and they did not stop again until they reached the palace.

Hermione had only ever seen pictures of the throne room, and that when she was very young. The current state of the room made her doubt that it could have ever been opulent, or even inviting. The curtains had been ripped from the walls, the fabric shredded and soiled so thoroughly that it was impossible to distinguish their original color. Crystals from the shattered chandelier crunched under her feet, and the fixture itself hung lopsidedly. Though there was no breeze, it seemed to sway, and Hermione got the distinct impression that if the hall were to become too noisy or full, what was left of the chandelier might fall.

At the end of the room was a single chair, and in that chair was where Greyback took his seat. His pack members filed into the room noiselessly. They were men of all sizes and shapes. Some fat, some thin, some rippling with muscle and sinew, and some simply intimidating because of their height alone. As different as they were, none were as impressive or had quite the air of command that Greyback did. He was inarguably their alpha, and his men venerated him because of it.

Once his pack had assembled, Greyback spread his arms in a gesture that was more sarcastic than welcoming.

"You wanted to speak," he said quietly. "So _speak_."

Hermione took a deep breath and immediately recited the request she'd constructed last night. "For two years, I've led a group of thirty Survivors. Two nights ago, our number was more than halved and our refuge destroyed. We no longer have the resources to survive on our own. We need your help."

She kept her chin up as Greyback chuckled, then began to laugh. His pack joined him, and the hall soon echoed with booming guffaws and belly-deep howls. They petered off almost as one, and Greyback regarded Hermione with cunning eyes and a wicked grin.

"Others have requested my help. You can see what remains of them now." He gestured to a pile of greasy, yellow bones near his chair. Hermione's stomach churned; Greyback's nostrils flared. He could smell her fear.

She met his eyes again, determined not to let him see it, too. "I'm willing to negotiate."

"What do you have that I could possibly want?" Greyback scoffed.

Hermione lifted her chin. "Me."

Greyback was silent for a moment, then barked a loud laugh. "_You_? Dear girl, I already _have_ you!"

She took another deep breath and slowly withdrew her wand. "No, you don't," she said quietly.

Greyback's relaxed attitude disappeared at once. He had lost his wand during the Battle of Hogwarts and had never replaced it. It was his one weakness. Even with his strength as a werewolf, he stood no chance against an armed witch or wizard, especially one as competent as Hermione.

A snarl ripped from his throat, and his pack, so keenly attuned to his mood, took a few steps forward, tightening the circle they had formed around Hermione and Graham. Graham shuffled closer to her. She heard him muttering under his breath, but ignored him. She could not afford to be distracted right now.

"You dare to _threaten_ me?" he roared. He was before her at once, looming over her, his face contorted with anger.

"To warn you!" she shouted back. "You may think that your war on wizardkind has ended, but it hasn't. Many that I've met still hate your kind. Hate you more than they hate the Burrowers. They're still out there, and they're still hunting you."

"I have an army," Greyback said beneath a growl. "I will _rip_ them apart."

"You'll never get close enough to even _smell_ them. And while you'd have to hunt for them, they know exactly where you are. They could be out there now, scouting, planning, _waiting_."

Greyback's eyes flicked to the group of wolves on his right. They left without needing to hear a word. A patrol, Hermione was certain.

She steadied herself with a breath: her bluff was working.

"And what does this have to do with you?" He took a step toward her, then another. "Are you here on their orders? Are you their _leader_?"

His hand shot out, clamped around her throat, and squeezed. His face was so close; his breath smelled like meat and blood. She once more quelled her instincts and kept her hand – and her wand – at her side.

"If I were…" she gasped. "Do you think… I would… Tell you?"

His eyes narrowed, his grip tightened, and the edges of her world faded to black. As the last glimmer of Greyback's shining teeth disappeared, Hermione knew it was the end for her. She only hoped that Bill could protect the group better than she could.

Suddenly, the pressure disappeared. Oxygen rushed down her throat, into her lungs, and Hermione staggered backwards. Graham clutched at her, keeping her upright while she massaged her throat and wiped tears from her eyes.

"You wished to negotiate?"

She straightened as best she could and met his eyes once again.

"In exchange for shelter, protection, and a share of your food, my group will scout for you. I will personally erect and maintain defensive wards around Buckingham, as well as around you and any other pack members you desire. I am an exceptionally powerful witch," she said in response to his deepening scowl. "If anyone _does_ manage to penetrate my wards, we will know hours ahead of time who they are and what they mean to do."

"Symbiosis," Greyback muttered.

She blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. "Exactly. I do have additional terms." Greyback raised a grizzly, grey brow, but waved her on. "My group must be protected. Not one of them will die."

"Women and children only. No men. No Muggles. I cannot control who my pack will kill if one of yours gets in the way."

"No. You will take both men _and_ Muggles." Greyback snarled. "We will not get in your way."

"I have enough men. I need no fights for dominance."

"My men will work _with_ you, not against you. There will be no fights from my end so long as my group is respected."

"Respect is mutual," Greyback snapped.

Her tone was cool. "We will give what we get."

Greyback considered her for a moment, then turned and ascended to his throne.

"One week," he said, his back to them.

Hermione looked at him shrewdly. "That's the night of the next full moon."

"Arrive at dusk."

"We need to be _protected_," Hermione said sternly, advancing on him. "Not slaughtered. Not _turned_."

"Then I suggest you arrive at _dusk_," he repeated venomously. "One week."

He dismissed them with a wave, and Hermione and Graham walked home alone. They did not see a single Host.

Ana found Bill staring dumbstruck at the ruins of St Giles two days later. She brought him to Elms Lesters, had Magdalene heal his minor scrapes and stings, and directed him to the kitchen for a meal. He recounted everything that they had seen, how Everett and Alex had died fighting, and how he was sure he'd found the perfect new situation for them.

Then he asked Ana how the group had been, aside from the fire. As soon as she reached Greyback's name, Bill leapt to his feet to find Hermione. She barely processed the relief she felt at his safe return before he began yelling.

"What the hell were you thinking, going to that… That _murderer_. That _child-killer_. Knowing what he does, what he's going to do, not only to you, but to _them_? To the people you mean to _protect_?"

"What other alternative did I have?" she said with forced calm. "I thought you were _dead_. We _all_ thought-"

"I don't give two fucks what you thought! He never should have been an option!"

"What should we have done instead, Bill? Waited? Waited for you?"

"Yes!"

"_No_!" She fisted her hair in her hands. "We lost _everything_ in that fire. You were our last hope, and we thought you had _died_. Do you understand? Giles burned, we hadn't heard from you in _days-_"

"Pig got eaten!"

"What else did you expect us to do?"

"Fight!" he screamed, throwing out his arms. "Fight like you've been fighting!"

"And if we can't fight anymore? If we _can't_?" Bill stopped pacing and stared at her, aghast.

"_Can't_?"

"There aren't enough of us for a full round of patrols, which could even be a good thing because we have neither food nor water to support what we have _now_ for more than a week. We have almost no ammunition, no basic supplies, and no _time_. Spring is coming. We'll never be able to get back to where we were."

"We can _move_!" Bill insisted. "I found a place-"

"For thirty," she said with a pointed look.

He grimaced. "It won't be too much harder with seven. We can go ranging more frequently, travel lightly, sleep outside. It's nomadic, but possible. We can do it!"

Hermione groaned and hid her eyes with her hands.

"We _can't_," she repeated. "It's too late."

"Too late? How could it be too late? It's easy: _just don't go_."

"Bill, it's not that simple."

"Then uncomplicate it."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because… Because I lied to him!"

Bill staggered a step backwards. "You _what_?"

Her voice shook as she explained. "Greyback would never accept us unless we had something to offer him, something he _needed_, something he couldn't survive without."

"What did you tell him?"

"That's not-"

"Hermione!"

"I told him that there was a resistance forming. That he and his pack were being hunted."

This was too much. Bill lowered himself onto a chair and put his head in his hands. "You're a fool," he said quietly. "An utter _fool_. How could you even say something like that? To _him_, of all people! Hermione, if he finds out-"

"He won't."

"You'll be dead-"

"He _won't_!"

Bill leapt up from his chair and took her by the shoulders. "How do you know, Hermione?" He gave her a firm shake. "How do you _know_?"

"I don't," she admitted, tearing herself away from him, "but the chances are-"

"You'd leave your life – the lives of others – to chance?"

"Isn't that what we're doing now?" she fired back. "The likelihood of my surviving for _this_ long is extremely low. How do you think the numbers look every time I go out on a hunt? Or when I'm on patrol? This whole _existence_ had depended on chance! I don't see what's so incomprehensible about taking a risk if the reward is worth it!"

"And if it isn't worth it? What then?"

"Then I die at the jaws of a werewolf instead of an insect!"

Bill took another step away from her. In that moment, something in his eyes changed, hardened in a way that Ron's never had. It was like she was a stranger, like she wasn't even human. Like she was a Host.

The realization hit her like a blow, and she gasped as tears filled her eyes.

"I will not stand by and watch you lead the others to their deaths." Bill's voice was tight, strung between a sob and a bellow. "They should be able to choose."

"I was never going to force-"

"They deserve better than you."

Before she could say another word, he stormed past her and slammed the door.

"I know," she said to no one. Only then did she allow her tears to fall.

Sunset of their final day at Elms Lesters approached, and it was time for the group to make their decisions. Bill had worked them over all week, painting a picture of a life of rebellion. He described a new and better sanctuary, full stomachs, and limitless ammunition. He talked about piles of dead Hosts, mounds of screaming, shriveled Burrowers, and help finally arriving. He spoke so passionately and eloquently that, at times, Hermione nearly believed him. But then she'd look outside and see the snowless ground. It brought her back to reality, helped her stand firm against Bill's propaganda.

Not everyone was immune.

Magdalene was the first to choose, and Hermione was not surprised to see her join Bill. He had talked to her the longest, playing on her long-held prejudices against werewolves, and against Greyback in particular.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," she said. "I just…"

"It's okay," Hermione said with a soft smile. "It's okay."

Magdalene nodded and clutched her handkerchief to her mouth.

Graham took his place at Hermione's right side in silence. Bill's expression remained unchanged. There had never been a natural camaraderie between the two men. No matter their fates, each would probably be happier without the other.

Ed, Joshua, and Ana exchanged looks, and Hermione's nervousness peaked. Greyback was under the impression that she would be bringing a group. If she arrived with only Graham in tow… Well, two people made a better meal than a patrol team, even if one of them was a witch.

"Ana?" Joshua's tone was gentle. "Ana, things are never going to be like they were. If we can't adapt, if we can't change…"

Ana wiped her eyes. "We'll die," she finished shakily. "I know. Ed?"

Ed looked as if he was going to speak, but thought better of it and grabbed Ana's hand instead. Joshua took her other hand and, together, they joined Graham and Hermione. She felt a moment of hot relief, which was followed swiftly by pain when she saw Bill's expression. Coming to terms with each betrayal cut him deeply, and Hermione couldn't help but feel disgusted when she saw his eyes harden once more.

She stepped across the gap to face him, to extend the proverbial olive branch and try one last time to change his mind.

"We're not monsters, you know."

"That's debatable," he muttered.

And all at once, her grief was burned away by anger. He was done with her.

"Fuck you," she whispered. She spun away from him, stormed toward her small following, and didn't intend on stopping until they reached Buckingham.

Then, Magdalene called her name. Before Hermione could think about what to do, her body reacted, spinning around once more and accepting Magdalene's final embrace.

"I'll make sure he doesn't hurt himself," she whispered. "We'll be fine, I promise."

Hermione choked back a sob and shook her head. "Protect yourself, Magdalene," she said sternly. "Protect yourself, stay safe, and if you need… If you need us-"

"I'll know where to go." Magdalene gave her a watery smile, then glanced at the sky. "It's nearly dark. You have to leave." Gently, she pushed Hermione away.

Graham pulled her the rest of the way and put his arm around her shoulders so that she could not look back.

"We need to hurry," he whispered into her ear. "The moon will be out soon, and then it'll be too late for any of us."

Hermione glanced at the muddy ground beneath her feet and felt her temper subside. The hardest part of the night had not yet passed. The pack would be on edge tonight: tempers short, patience shorter. She was the group's only protection against the wolves. She had to stay focused and calm. Steady. Prepared.

They reached Piccadilly Circus and were intercepted by four pack members. The second half of their journey was just as quiet and swift as the first, though markedly more tense. That tension only grew as they bypassed the palace's front entrance.

"Are we not going to the throne room?" she asked one of the guards.

He said nothing and continued to lead them toward the gardens.

Something wasn't right.

She resumed her position next to Graham who, judging by his expression, was just as concerned about the exchange. She glanced at Ana, Joshua, and Ed, and they stared back at her with wide eyes. She held up three fingers and mouthed a countdown.

_Three… Two… One…_

"NOW!"

Her hand plunged to her hip as she bolted away from the guards. Her fingertips brushed the handle of her wand, nearly closed around it, when Greyback leapt at her. She screamed, tried to dodge him, tried to clutch for her wand, but his momentum was too great. He tackled her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her and causing her vision to fail. The world teetered, spun, and when her vision returned, she was staring at Greyback's legs. He carried her over his shoulder. Her wand was still in her pocket, which was pressed firmly against his chest.

"Going somewhere, _comrade_?"

"You double-crossing _bastard_!" she screamed, pounding on his back with her fists. "You murderous cur! This was not part of our agreement! This was not part of our deal!"

"Neither was being lied to!" he snapped.

"Lied! I never-"

"Did you think I would simply _trust_ you? Did you think I wouldn't send out my own scouts to investigate the news of a resistance?" Greyback barked a laugh. "Ignorant little bitch."

"I don't know what you're-"

"Cut the shite! I sent my men out twenty miles and you know what they found? _Nothing_. They interrogated every human they came across, and not _one_ of them knew about a hunt. And do you know how many of those were wizards?" He did not wait for her to guess. "_Two_. They only discovered that much by searching their corpses! They wouldn't even risk revealing what they were to us! Bloody _cowards_. And you spoke of _rebellion_... Ha!"

It was useless to deny it any further. She'd been caught, and now she was going to die for it. Unless she could reach her wand. If he would only set her down, or move her, or let her go for just second… She shifted her hips, and he readjusted his grip. His sharp fingernails sliced through her denims and into the flesh of her inner thigh.

"I wanted to kill you the day I found out. I wanted to find you and do _unspeakable _things to your dead body." His voice was husky and a tremor ran through his body, making the hair on his arms, chest, and back bristle. "But my better judgment prevailed. I'm glad I waited. You will taste so much sweeter beneath the full moon."

He stopped at the edge of a small clearing and set her onto her feet. Her hand flew to her hip, but Greyback was once again too swift. He pinioned her to his chest, holding her left arm behind her back and her right arm over her head. He lowered his head so that his chin rested on her shoulder and gently pressed his lips to her pulse. It fluttered in a staccato beneath his touch. He nipped her gently and grinned as she shuddered.

"So close to death and still so _excitable_," he marveled, nipping her again. "Maybe I'll take my time with you, sweet one. Or maybe not."

She tried to control her heaving chest, forcing words out in gasps. "Our arrangement… It could still work. I could… I could teach you magic! Wandless magic! Show you spells. You could be powerful – even more powerful!"

"Oh really?" He chuckled indulgently. "So if I let you go right now, you'll just stand there like a docile little thing and not try to stop your friends from being killed?"

His words paralyzed her, and for the first time, she looked into the clearing. Ed, Ana, Joshua, and Graham were at the center of it, stripped of their weapons and huddled with their backs to each other. Surrounding them was the pack, all of them naked and moving – pacing, flexing, squatting, stretching, scratching. Their eyes never left their prey.

Greyback glanced at the sky. A quiet laugh rumbled through his chest.

"Please… Please don't do this," she whispered. "Take me instead. Kill me! Don't hurt-"

He pressed his lips to her neck again, and Hermione cried out softly. "Symbiosis…" he murmured. "A mutually beneficial relationship. Don't act so surprised," he scolded lightly. "I've lived with the lycanthropy virus for almost my entire life, and it has helped me more than you can imagine."

The moon crested over the trees and lit the clearing. As one, the pack stepped into it, and the transformations began. Human jaws and noses ripped into long snouts and entire sets of human teeth rained to the ground as a new, sharper set pushed through the gums. Legs broke, reshaped, and elongated with sick, sharp cracks. Fur exploded from every inch of skin, and once they fell onto all four paws, they raised their voices to the moon in a long, mournful howl.

"No! No, please, tell them-"

"It's become even more valuable since this whole Burrower debacle," he said with a grunt, pressing his arousal into her back. "Humans are either dead, preoccupied, or come to me willingly, searching for an escape."

Ana's high pitched scream pierced through the chorus. The wolf closest to her leapt, and she fell under a flash of claws and teeth. He was joined by his brother, and the smell and sight of blood incensed the others. The screams of fear and pain lasted too long for the amount of flesh being torn. Between the bodies of two wolves, she saw a hand reach out for help.

They were being eaten alive.

Hermione thrashed in Greyback's arms, but his grip was as unyielding as iron. She could not budge an inch. "Kill them, just _kill them_!" she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Just let them die! Kill them! Please! Please!"

"They will die!" Greyback shouted. "Just as you will! _You_ came to _me_, remember? _You_ wanted _my_ help! Now you have it!"

"Please, let them-"

"Do you want to know what really _tickles_ me?" he asked with a quiet laugh. "What really makes me _smile_? I've always preferred _parasitism_."

With a final, booming laugh, Greyback launched himself into the moonlight, taking her with him. His transformation was immediate and impossibly fast. Hermione had only just turned herself onto her back before Greyback loomed over her, a great grey wolf with yellow eyes that shone with human excitement.

She scuttled backward and her hand flew to her wand. She drew it at once.

"_Avada Ke-"_

Her wand was ripped from her hand. She felt rather than saw it splinter beneath Greyback's powerful swing. Then the world disappeared as claws ripped into her face. Her cheek shredded apart, her eye tore open. Blood and aqueous humour flooded nose and throat, and she began to drown, each panicked breath no more than a frothy gurgle.

She heard a strange, coughing chuckle from above. Felt a new kind of warmth on what was left of her ruined face. Through the one eye she had left, Hermione saw a flash of shining, yellow teeth.

Then she was consumed.

The End


End file.
